


Last Act

by vials



Series: Wait For Me To Come Home [1]
Category: London Spy
Genre: Alex lives, Alex's POV, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Death, Gen, mentions of danny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-28 22:56:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7660192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vials/pseuds/vials
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one can say that Frances Turner didn't love her son in her own particular way, and up in that attic, sitting next to that trunk, she's willing to do anything to prove it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last Act

**Author's Note:**

> An AU idea I came up with shortly after watching the series, diverting from canon at the point where they realise Alex was lying about leaving everything behind.

The silence only lasted for a few seconds before it occurred to Alex that it wasn’t a complete one; he could feel the vibrations of someone walking, and as soon as he was aware of them he was aware of the actual footsteps. In another split second his brain had put together the fact that the footsteps were walking away – _she_ was walking away, and by the time the footsteps had turned from level, steady steps to the awkward pace of someone climbing, Alex had started screaming again.

It was no good; his throat was already hoarse, his knuckles grazed and his fingernails bleeding. He knew it was no good. If anything, this was counterproductive. He would only use up his oxygen faster. _Die_ faster. But curled there with his knees pressed into his chest, his lungs barely able to expand… screaming was all he could do.

He wasn’t sure how long it was until his vision began to go dark. He could barely see anything as it was but he knew when it happened, that deeper shade of darkness that was closing around the edges, the prickling behind his eyes that refused to go away no matter how hard he blinked. He felt sick, and far too warm. The sweat had soaked his hair and coated his face; every breath he did manage to get was heavy and damp.

Alex wanted to scream again, but he sobbed instead. He curled a fist, driving it into the lid of the trunk as hard as he could but with the limited space it didn’t have much of an effect. He kept trying, hitting it over and over again, pulling his arm back as far as it would go and crushing his elbow against his stomach each time. He only paused when his sobs turned to retches; for a moment he was sure he was going to be sick, and he couldn’t breathe at all. His head felt too heavy. There was a pressure behind his eyes that felt close to breaking point. He was going to die.

The rushing in his ears made it almost impossible to hear anything, but if he concentrated, he thought he could hear something reaching him, vague and distant and jumbled. He tried to tune into it, lost it, threw his fist against the lid of the trunk again and let out a choked yell. 

“Alistair!” 

“Get me out of here!” Alex screamed. He kicked at the trunk this time, the force of it enough to make the entire thing shift. He could hear scrabbling above him; she was trying to hold the thing still.

“Alistair, listen to me!”

“I promised! I said what you wanted!”

His breaths were coming in gasps now; he could hear it in his voice. He felt lightheaded, his eyelids heavy. Every moment was a struggle to stay awake.

“You were lying, Alistair!” 

Alex felt briefly cold. His blood ran like ice one second and red hot the next; he retched again, his head spinning with every slight movement. 

“No,” he croaked. “No, I –”

“You know you were,” Frances snapped. “Listen to me. You don’t have long. You’re not being monitored. They’re going to kill you. I persuaded them to let me sit with you while you died.”

Alex let out a moan. 

“But _listen_ ,” Frances said, slapping the top of the trunk. Alex fell silent, trying to hear her over the rushing in his ears. “I need to know you’re going to do exactly as I tell you.”

“I will.”

“You have to promise me, Alistair.” 

“I’ll do exactly as you tell me,” Alex mumbled. His tongue felt too big for his mouth; he could hear his speech was slurred. 

“I’m going to get you out,” Frances said, and Alex could hear the scraping of metal as she began to unlatch the trunk. “I need you to say quiet. You have to stay in there until you catch your breath.”

Alex couldn’t reply. He could barely keep his eyes open. When the rush of cold air hit his face he could hardly believe it; he gasped, pulling himself up. He had no idea where he had got the strength from, but he needed to stretch out his chest, needed to get a lungful of air. It burned at first, pushing all his cramped and aching muscles, but his vision began clearing almost immediately. He hunched there, gasping, shaking hard enough he was scared he would rattle the trunk. He took enough deep breaths that he managed to push back the rushing in his ears and the blurriness in his vision. Finally it hit him that he had no idea where they’re taken him. He was completely naked, in a room he had never seen before. Or – no, he had seen it before. He had, but not like this. Looking more closely, he realised it was his attic space, but it didn’t look anything like how he remembered it.

Frances was covered from head to toe in forensic protective gear. 

“What –” Alex asked, but Frances shook her head.

“There’s no time. You need to hide. You can’t leave the attic. You _musn’t_. Alistair, you hide and don’t you dare come out until you know there’s no one else in this flat. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” Alex said, already scanning the room. There were only two places he could realistically hide. Under the bed seemed far too obvious. The crawlspace in the wall was his best chance, but the thought of its narrow, dark space made Alex’s heartrate kick up again.

“Quickly,” Frances said, and Alex realised he had no choice. “And quietly,” she added, as Alex gripped the side of the trunk and began the attempt to get to his feet.

He couldn’t straighten up properly. His head span if he tried to stand up taller than a crouch, and the nausea was briefly overwhelming. Somehow he manged to twist to the side, clumsily hooking a leg over. He would have fallen if it hadn’t been for Frances grabbing him, steadying him enough that he could pull his other leg out and twist around, landing in a sitting position with his back against the trunk. She took most of his weight, holding him there so the trunk didn’t skid backwards. She gave him only a few moments before she squeezed his shoulders, digging her nails in. The sharp pain shocked some sense back into him, if only briefly.

“Go,” she whispered, and Alex did the only thing he could. Pushing himself onto his hands and knees, he crawled across the room, his knees aching as they pressed against the wood. He could feel tiny shards of fibreglass in his knees and palms, left over from when this room had been an attic and not god knows what it was now, and finally he reached the wall, pushing the panel to the side. 

His nerve almost failed him when he saw the dark space, but Frances was there again, pushing him.

“Hurry up!”

Alex took a deep breath and crawled forward.

It was pitch black, but thankfully cool compared to the rest of the attic. At the last moment, he turned around, pushing himself in backwards and pressing back until he felt pipes blocking his path. They were cool; he edged forward slightly and hunched down so he could press his feet against them, feeling the cold spreading up his legs. He heard the panel slide back into place, and the square of light vanished. Darkness rushed in; with a jolt of panic Alex closed his eyes, concentrating on where his feet met the pipe. In the attic, he could hear the trunk being closed; seconds later there were footsteps, across the floor and down the ladder, and then he was alone again.

The silence around him was heavy; combined with the darkness of his hiding place, Alex could feel his chest beginning to tighten again. He kept his eyes firmly closed but it didn’t shake the knowledge that opening them would do no good. He focused on the cool pipe, moving his feet ever so slightly when his body temperature began to warm it. Just as he was beginning to run out of things to distract himself with, he heard an outbreak of noise, this time from below him.

Carefully, Alex leaned down and pressed an ear to the floor. He couldn’t hear anything solid through the floorboards, but he could make out some familiar sounds – doors opening and closing, chairs scraping back. There were a lot of people down there. Alex creased his forehead in thought. Just how many people were involved with this? How the hell was he going to get out of here? Would they really fall for this? He didn’t think so. Surely they would check the trunk. Surely they would at least move it and realise it was much lighter now. They would find him, and then –

And then what? Alex took a slow breath. He wouldn’t let them put him back in there. If they did manage it, he would make sure he was already a corpse. 

He could hear voices calling back and forth, sounding more like buzzing murmurs from where he was. He focused on them, trying to get any clues as to what was being said, glad for the distraction. He was so focused on it that he didn’t realise someone was back in the attic until a floorboard creaked close to him; with horror, Alex realised that someone was standing just on the other side of the wall to where he was crouched. He tensed, frozen, as the silence stretched on. Then, finally, an urgent whisper.

“Alistair?” 

Alex let himself relax slightly. 

“Frances,” he said quietly. “What’s going on?”

“Stay there,” Frances told him. “I’ve told them you’re dead.”

“Do they believe you?”

“They were monitoring your vital signs,” Frances said briskly. “The reading was lost once you got out of the trunk. It showed a flatline. They’re packing up, so I assume they’re satisfied with the result.”

“How am I going to get out of here?” Alex asked, feeling the panic beginning to rise up again. “They’re going to find out—”

“All you need to do is stay quiet, and stay in here,” Frances said. “Do not come out until you know that everyone is gone. You’ll work something out. You always have.”

Alex nodded, his breathing ragged. 

“Alright,” he said, forcing his voice to remain steady.  
“I have to go,” Frances said. “Alistair, I know you’ll never find it in your heart to love me. I understand that. All I ask is that you believe me when I tell you how much I love you. Perhaps I didn’t do it in the right way, perhaps I made too many mistakes. But I have always loved you, and I always will.”

Alex didn’t know what to say. It seemed he wouldn’t have to worry about it; there were footsteps crossing the room.

“Thank you,” he whispered, and he didn’t expect her to hear. He didn’t know if he imagined her footsteps pausing or not. He waited to hear her footsteps fade as she climbed down the ladder, waited for the heavier silence to close in, but it never came. Instead he heard the unmistakeable sound of the heavy trunk lid being pulled open.

Alex felt his eyes widen, though it didn’t do much good. As quickly as he dared, he crawled back up to the panel, hearing a brief shuffling from the attic and then, finally, that silence. It barely registered with him now. He could hear the rushing in his ears again, the panic crawling up his throat. 

There was a small gap where the panel slotted against the wall. Alex pressed an eye to it, straining to see anything in the light. His eye stung and he blinked furiously, trying to focus. The room was silent, and from what he could tell, empty. The trunk was closed.

Everything finally connected, and Alex felt a rush of light-headedness. He almost pulled the panel away – why, he wasn’t sure – but froze at the last moment as he heard voices directly below the attic, quickly followed by footsteps on their way up. He pushed back into the shadows slightly, focusing on the little crack of light, seeing it briefly vanish and reappear as two people crossed in front of it. 

“Shitty way to go,” one of them said, and Alex frowned. He was sure he recognised the voice.

“He had his chance,” said the other. “Shame, really. Grab that end.”

“Where are we putting it?”

“Drag it up to the corner over there. Yeah, that one.”

Alex winced at the sudden noise; the trunk was being dragged across the floor and Alex resisted the urge to press his hands over his ears. He could feel the sound through his points of contact with the floor, overwhelming and all he could focus on, and the panic briefly rose up in him with such force that he almost grabbed for the panel, thinking it would be better if only he didn’t feel so _trapped_.

He managed to ride through the feeling. The noise stopped seconds afterwards, and after a moment of silence, there was another scrape and thump and then nothing.

“Fuck, that’s heavy,” someone said. “What now?”

“Think we can fuck off for now. Forensics are going to be in here to set everything up. Should be a clean job.”

“Hopefully. Still not sure how they’re going to guarantee the partner actually shows up.”

Alex’s heart lurched. 

“He will. If he doesn’t, we’ll give him a poke in the right direction. Anyway, come on. I fucking hate it up here, it’s humid as hell.”

Alex held his breath as they passed by his hiding spot again; footsteps went back down the ladder and he heard their voices joining the others in the hallway. He could get out, maybe, get over there and get Frances, perhaps there was enough room for them both in the crawlspace. He would have tried it if it hadn’t been for more footsteps on the ladder, and more voices in the attic, a half dozen of them this time, walking back and forth, moving things around. Alex counted the seconds, and then the minutes, past where he knew he had been struggling for breath, past the point he remembered the pressure in his head building and his eyes slipping closed.

To Frances’ credit, she didn’t scream once. 

Alex’s cheeks were damp – the crawlspace was heating up and he pretended it was sweat. He hunched on his elbows and knees, clamping his hands over his ears. He focused on his breathing, counting each breath, holding it for the right amount of seconds, letting it out again. The minutes turned into hours, and the hours into silence.

He had fallen asleep, somehow, or maybe passed out from whatever drugs they’d given him still floating around in his system. He wasn’t sure how long it had been; only that he was thirstier than he’d ever been in his life, and that sweat was sticking to him now, pulling at his skin as he pulled himself up from his position slumped against some of the support beams. He listened closely, hearing nothing in the attic, nothing from the rooms downstairs. The air was still, and he could sense that no one was in the flat. The thought didn’t comfort him enough to move. He waited.

He waited until the heat and thirst started to drive him near mad; as soon as he made the decision to move he was suddenly desperate, clawing at the panel and punching it with enough force that it skidded several feet across the floor. Alex pulled himself out, collapsing with his legs still curled in the crawlspace, gasping for air that was only marginally better than in the crawlspace – the entire attic was so hot it almost hurt. Over his heaving breaths, he listened to the flat below him, terrified that at any moment he would hear footsteps. There was nothing. 

His breathing began to slow; as soon as he had the strength, he turned his head, looking at where the trunk was now placed. It was on its end in the corner, gouge marks in the wood leading up to it. The latches were on, and – Alex almost threw up as he saw the spot heater pointed right at it, switched on to full. His chest tightened again, his breaths beginning to grow uneven, and this time he couldn’t stand waiting for it to right itself. 

He rolled over, crawling on his hands and knees to where he could see his laptop was placed. He flipped it over and popped the back open, grabbing the battery and wrenching it out, pulling at it clumsily, his hands shaking enough that it was almost impossible.

The flashdrive was there, still hidden among the hardware. Alex grabbed it and held it tightly in his fist, using it to ground himself through the dizzy relief that washed over him. He forced himself to move through it, crawling over to where the ladder was folded on top of the hatch. At first he was worried it was shut from this side and then he made himself think, remember how it opened, and he grabbed the ladder and pulled it up towards him before letting it go. With a click, the hatch fell out, and Alex pushed at the ladder with numb hands until he finally got it to unfold. 

He made it two thirds of the way down before he lost his footing and collapsed to the floor, shaking with the force of his sobbing. The flat was still around him, quiet, but he got no comfort from it. It was only a matter of time.

Alex pulled himself up and stumbled towards his bedroom. He would give himself time to grab something to wear, find some shoes, and then he had to go. He would leave everything else behind. There was no time.

He had to find Danny.


End file.
